Speeches (Lines) for Feste in "Twelfth Night; or, What You Will"

Maria. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will
not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in
way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Feste. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this
world needs to fear no colours.

Maria. Make that good.

Feste. He shall see none to fear.

Maria. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that
saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.'

Feste. Where, good Mistress Mary?

Maria. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Feste. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those
that are fools, let them use their talents.

Maria. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or,
to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Feste. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and,
for turning away, let summer bear it out.

Maria. You are resolute, then?

Feste. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points.

Maria. That if one break, the other will hold; or, if both
break, your gaskins fall.

Feste. Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy way; if
Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Maria. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my
lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.

Feste. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft
prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may
pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus?
'Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.'
[Enter OLIVIA with MALVOLIO]
God bless thee, lady!

Olivia. Take the fool away.

Feste. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
besides, you grow dishonest.

Feste. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is
the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend
himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if
he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing
that's mended is but patched: virtue that
transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that
amends is but patched with virtue. If that this
simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but
calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take
away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Feste. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non
facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not
motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
prove you a fool.

Olivia. Can you do it?

Feste. Dexterously, good madonna.

Olivia. Make your proof.

Feste. I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse
of virtue, answer me.

Olivia. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Olivia. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Malvolio. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death shake him:
infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the
better fool.

Feste. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be
sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his
word for two pence that you are no fool.

Olivia. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
guiltless and of free disposition, is to take those
things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets:
there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do
nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet
man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Feste. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
speakest well of fools!

Olivia. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but
madman: fie on him!
[Exit MARIA]
Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I
am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it.
[Exit MALVOLIO]
Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
people dislike it.

Feste. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest
son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with
brains! for,--here he comes,--one of thy kin has a
most weak pia mater.

Sir Toby Belch. 'Tis a gentle man here--a plague o' these
pickle-herring! How now, sot!

Feste. Good Sir Toby!

Olivia. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Feste. Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one
draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads
him; and a third drowns him.

Olivia. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my
coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's
drowned: go, look after him.

Feste. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look
to the madman.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Feste. How now, my hearts! did you never see the picture
of 'we three'?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I
had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg,
and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In
sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last
night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the
Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas
very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy
leman: hadst it?

Feste. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose
is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the
Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a--

Feste. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Ay, ay: I care not for good life.

Feste. [Sings]
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

Sir Toby Belch. Good, good.

Feste. [Sings]
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Feste. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

Feste. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be
constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to
call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'

Feste. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

Sir Toby Belch. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's
a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three merry men be we.' Am not
I consanguineous? am I not of her blood?
Tillyvally. Lady!
[Sings]
'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!'

Feste. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Maria. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Feste. 'His eyes do show his days are almost done.'

Sir Toby Belch. 'But I will never die.'

Feste. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Sir Toby Belch. 'Shall I bid him go?'

Feste. 'What an if you do?'

Sir Toby Belch. 'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'

Feste. 'O no, no, no, no, you dare not.'

Sir Toby Belch. Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more than a
steward? Dost thou think, because thou art
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Feste. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the
mouth too.

Orsino. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Feste. Are you ready, sir?

Orsino. Ay; prithee, sing.
[Music]
SONG.

Feste. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!

Orsino. There's for thy pains.

Feste. No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.

Orsino. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Feste. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Orsino. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Feste. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the
tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for
thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such
constancy put to sea, that their business might be
every thing and their intent every where; for that's
it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Viola. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
thy tabour?

Feste. No, sir, I live by the church.

Viola. Art thou a churchman?

Feste. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
the church.

Viola. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Feste. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!

Viola. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with
words may quickly make them wanton.

Feste. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

Viola. Why, man?

Feste. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that
word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words
are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

Viola. Thy reason, man?

Feste. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and
words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
reason with them.

Viola. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing.

Feste. Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my
conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be
to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Viola. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

Feste. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she
will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and
fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to
herrings; the husband's the bigger: I am indeed not
her fool, but her corrupter of words.

Viola. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Feste. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun,
it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but
the fool should be as oft with your master as with
my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

Viola. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Feste. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

Viola. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for
one;
[Aside]
though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy
lady within?

Feste. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

Viola. Yes, being kept together and put to use.

Feste. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring
a Cressida to this Troilus.

Viola. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.

Feste. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but
a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is
within, sir. I will construe to them whence you
come; who you are and what you would are out of my
welkin, I might say 'element,' but the word is over-worn.

Sir Toby Belch. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.

Feste. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?

Sebastian. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow:
Let me be clear of thee.

Feste. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor
I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come
speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario;
nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.

Sebastian. I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou
know'st not me.

Feste. Vent my folly! he has heard that word of some
great man and now applies it to a fool. Vent my
folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world,
will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy
strangeness and tell me what I shall vent to my
lady: shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

Sebastian. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me: There's
money for thee: if you tarry longer, I shall give
worse payment.

Feste. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men
that give fools money get themselves a good
report--after fourteen years' purchase.

Sir Toby Belch. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

Feste. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be
in some of your coats for two pence.

Maria. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard;
make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate: do
it quickly; I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.

Feste. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself
in't; and I would I were the first that ever
dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to
become the function well, nor lean enough to be
thought a good student; but to be said an honest man
and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a
careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.

Sir Toby Belch. Jove bless thee, master Parson.

Feste. Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for, as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 'That that is is;'
so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for,
what is 'that' but 'that,' and 'is' but 'is'?

Sir Toby Belch. To him, Sir Topas.

Feste. What, ho, I say! peace in this prison!

Malvolio. [Within] Who calls there?

Feste. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatic.

Malvolio. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.

Feste. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man!
talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

Malvolio. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: good Sir
Topas, do not think I am mad: they have laid me
here in hideous darkness.

Feste. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most
modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones
that will use the devil himself with courtesy:
sayest thou that house is dark?

Malvolio. As hell, Sir Topas.

Feste. Why it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clearstores toward the south north are as
lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of
obstruction?

Malvolio. I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, this house is dark.

Feste. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness
but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than
the Egyptians in their fog.

Malvolio. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though
ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there
was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you
are: make the trial of it in any constant question.

Feste. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

Malvolio. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Feste. What thinkest thou of his opinion?

Malvolio. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Feste. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness:
thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will
allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

Sir Toby Belch. My most exquisite Sir Topas!

Feste. Nay, I am for all waters.

Sir Toby Belch. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how
thou findest him: I would we were well rid of this
knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I
would he were, for I am now so far in offence with
my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this
sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.

Feste. [Singing]
'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does.'

Malvolio. Fool!

Feste. 'My lady is unkind, perdy.'

Malvolio. Fool!

Feste. 'Alas, why is she so?'

Malvolio. Fool, I say!

Feste. 'She loves another'--Who calls, ha?

Malvolio. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my
hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink and paper:
as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to
thee for't.

Feste. Master Malvolio?

Malvolio. Ay, good fool.

Feste. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

Malvolio. Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused: I
am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

Feste. But as well? then you are mad indeed, if you be no
better in your wits than a fool.

Malvolio. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness,
send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to
face me out of my wits.

Feste. Advise you what you say; the minister is here.
Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain
bibble babble.

Malvolio. Sir Topas!

Feste. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I,
sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good Sir Topas.
Merry, amen. I will, sir, I will.

Malvolio. Fool, fool, fool, I say!

Feste. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you sir? I am
shent for speaking to you.

Malvolio. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper: I
tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

Feste. Well-a-day that you were, sir

Malvolio. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper and
light; and convey what I will set down to my lady:
it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing
of letter did.

Feste. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you
not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit?

Malvolio. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Feste. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his
brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

Malvolio. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I
prithee, be gone.

Feste. [Singing]
I am gone, sir,
And anon, sir,
I'll be with you again,
In a trice,
Like to the old Vice,
Your need to sustain;
Who, with dagger of lath,
In his rage and his wrath,
Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
Like a mad lad,
Pare thy nails, dad;
Adieu, good man devil.

Fabian. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.

Feste. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

Fabian. Any thing.

Feste. Do not desire to see this letter.

Orsino. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Feste. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

Orsino. I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow?

Feste. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
for my friends.

Orsino. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

Feste. No, sir, the worse.

Orsino. How can that be?

Feste. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me;
now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by
my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself,
and by my friends, I am abused: so that,
conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives
make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for
my friends and the better for my foes.

Orsino. Why, this is excellent.

Feste. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
one of my friends.

Orsino. Thou shalt not be the worse for me: there's gold.

Feste. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
you could make it another.

Orsino. O, you give me ill counsel.

Feste. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once,
and let your flesh and blood obey it.

Orsino. Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a
double-dealer: there's another.

Feste. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old
saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex,
sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of
Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; one, two, three.

Orsino. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw:
if you will let your lady know I am here to speak
with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake
my bounty further.

Feste. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness:
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I
will awake it anon.

Sir Toby Belch. That's all one: has hurt me, and there's the end
on't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?

Feste. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes
were set at eight i' the morning.

Olivia. He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither:
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
[Re-enter Clown with a letter, and FABIAN]
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah?

Feste. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves's end as
well as a man in his case may do: has here writ a
letter to you; I should have given't you to-day
morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels,
so it skills not much when they are delivered.

Olivia. Open't, and read it.

Feste. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers
the madman.
[Reads]
'By the Lord, madam,'--

Olivia. How now! art thou mad?

Feste. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship
will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.

Olivia. Prithee, read i' thy right wits.

Feste. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to
read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

Olivia. Did he write this?

Feste. Ay, madam.

Olivia. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Feste. Why, 'some are born great, some achieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was
one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir; but
that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.'
But do you remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such
a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagged:'
and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

Orsino. Pursue him and entreat him to a peace:
He hath not told us of the captain yet:
When that is known and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister,
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
For so you shall be, while you are a man;
But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.

Feste. [Sings]
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, &c.
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, &c.
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, &c.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, &c.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, &c.
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.